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Now I was up against it. It is not an easy thing to tell a friend how much you like his sister; nor is it any easier to disappoint that friend— to say nothing of policy.
But Mattie came to the rescue: “How did it happen ?”
I explained that I had forgotten my previous engagement when I accepted his.
“Who is the lady?” he asked. “Perhaps, I can arrange things.” “You know her!” I blurted out. “And you can arrange things. But just promise me—”
“All right,” he interrupted. “I promise—anything. Now, who is she ?”
I was just able to get it out of me: “Your sister!”
Mattie paused. I did not know why. I expected something strong. Finally he said: “There is something wrong somewhere.”
“There is a whole lot wrong somewhere!” I corrected.
He paid no attention to my remark, but simply explained: “I asked my sister if she was going to the dance, and she told me she was going with Howard Beach.”
I was dumbfounded, at first; but managed to offer an explanation: “She probably heard that I had accepted your invitation, and gave my engagement to Beach.”
“Couldn’t be,” he answered. “She doesn’t know that you’re coming tonight.”
“Do you mean to tell me that if you haven’t told her, she hasn’t found it out by this time?” I fairly shouted my question.
Cool as a lake breeze, Mattie answered: “That’s just what I mean.” But I was not satisfied, and began again: “But now—”
“Now, nothing!” he broke in. “Your mix-up is solved and I’ll see you tonight.” And he slammed the bank-door in my face.
I was in worse than ever. Had she, too, forgotten? Or did she switch dates on purpose? I tried to locate Beach, but he was out of town and would not be back until six in the evening.
I just boiled all day, and by six o’clock I was near the danger point. I called for Beach on the phone, and learned that “he had just stepped out.”
In desperation, I called: “Central, 698!”
“Hello,” came back a girl’s voice.
“Is Mattie there?” I asked.
“No, sir,” she answered. “He’ll not be in until later.”
It was his sister, and she had not recognized my voice. So I shot my message as fast as I could: “Tell him Tom called to say that it would be impossible for him to come this, evening!”
She tried to say something—but I hung up the receiver. I warned every soul in the house that I was not at home for any telephone calls. Three times someone tried to get me; three times my good old mother fibbed for her boy.
At seven-thirty I found myself all dressed up and in a horrible humor. A messenger brought a note. My first impulse was to tear it up. But I opened it, and found scribbled in pencil:
“Have been pinched for speeding. Bail me out.
“Beach.”

Now I was up against it. It is not an easy thing to tell a friend how much you like his sister; nor is it any easier to disappoint that friend— to say nothing of policy.
But Mattie came to the rescue: “How did it happen ?”
I explained that I had forgotten my previous engagement when I accepted his.
“Who is the lady?” he asked. “Perhaps, I can arrange things.” “You know her!” I blurted out. “And you can arrange things. But just promise me—”
“All right,” he interrupted. “I promise—anything. Now, who is she ?”
I was just able to get it out of me: “Your sister!”
Mattie paused. I did not know why. I expected something strong. Finally he said: “There is something wrong somewhere.”
“There is a whole lot wrong somewhere!” I corrected.
He paid no attention to my remark, but simply explained: “I asked my sister if she was going to the dance, and she told me she was going with Howard Beach.”
I was dumbfounded, at first; but managed to offer an explanation: “She probably heard that I had accepted your invitation, and gave my engagement to Beach.”
“Couldn’t be,” he answered. “She doesn’t know that you’re coming tonight.”
“Do you mean to tell me that if you haven’t told her, she hasn’t found it out by this time?” I fairly shouted my question.
Cool as a lake breeze, Mattie answered: “That’s just what I mean.” But I was not satisfied, and began again: “But now—”
“Now, nothing!” he broke in. “Your mix-up is solved and I’ll see you tonight.” And he slammed the bank-door in my face.
I was in worse than ever. Had she, too, forgotten? Or did she switch dates on purpose? I tried to locate Beach, but he was out of town and would not be back until six in the evening.
I just boiled all day, and by six o’clock I was near the danger point. I called for Beach on the phone, and learned that “he had just stepped out.”
In desperation, I called: “Central, 698!”
“Hello,” came back a girl’s voice.
“Is Mattie there?” I asked.
“No, sir,” she answered. “He’ll not be in until later.”
It was his sister, and she had not recognized my voice. So I shot my message as fast as I could: “Tell him Tom called to say that it would be impossible for him to come this, evening!”
She tried to say something—but I hung up the receiver. I warned every soul in the house that I was not at home for any telephone calls. Three times someone tried to get me; three times my good old mother fibbed for her boy.
At seven-thirty I found myself all dressed up and in a horrible humor. A messenger brought a note. My first impulse was to tear it up. But I opened it, and found scribbled in pencil:
“Have been pinched for speeding. Bail me out.
“Beach.”